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Especially since Liam was still in jail somewhere and they didn’t know how to get him out. What must it be like for that poor kid?
“Are we at the Alamo then at last?” Donal asked, hoisting up his collar against the stinging rain.
The first time Bets had made an allusion to the famous battle, weeks after his arrival in Ireland, Linc had protested vehemently.
His heart broke because he wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Nah,” he managed, his throat hurting from his weak retort. “We’ll figure something out. We always do.”
As he walked to his car, he acknowledged to himself that he didn’t believe it, and to a man like him, that made it feel like Malcolm had all but won.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Her plan hadn’t worked.
Taylor scanned the headlines as J.T. and her other accomplices hovered around her, as incredulous as she. They had been on an after-dinner break when she’d received Ghislaine’s text. Arthur hadn’t returned yet from taking a walk with Clara, and Eoghan was talking with Cian out in the front hall. All of the brothers lifted their eyes to her, and she could see a reflection of her own shock and rage.
Last night, after they’d brought her around from her faint, she’d done the impossible and trusted them like she had Liam. Ironically, after she’d run them through her plan, they’d improved upon it—which had involved raiding the paint in the inn’s storage room so she could enlarge her work. God, she’d been so hopeful, and she could have sworn she felt Liam’s joy at her trusting more people to help them. She’d even found enough of an appetite to eat a couple of scones after they’d arrived back at the inn early this morning. But now…
Hope had more than left the building. It had been thrown over the cliffs outside the inn and into the dark sea below.
“We are dealing with an absolute bastard,” Trev said, breaking the silence. “With powerful backers. It’s outrageous that news stations would run that story.”
“And what investigation?” Flynn shot back. “Who determined it was a copycat?”
“They’re sons of bitches,” Quinn ground out, his fist pressing into the table. “And dangerous ones. I’m sorry your boyfriend won’t be released, Taylor. I know you have lawyers on this, and I respect Linc and the way he does things. But do you want our lawyers to see if there’s anything they can do?”
She rubbed under her nose, fighting the mudslide of failure trying to tear her down. What kind of soulmate was she? Liam was in an undisclosed jail protecting her, and she wasn’t holding up her end. She never, in a million years, would have imagined they’d refute the mural. Her style, her voice was so recognizable.
Plus, she’d posted it on her social media channels in real time. But no, the government was suggesting someone had hacked into her account and posted it. They were trying to steal her identity—as Veritas—like that douche who’d betrayed her when she was a teenager. That was so not going to work, but dammit, she was out of ideas.
“I want to know what proof they have that Veritas’ accounts were hacked, dammit!” she raged.
Flynn winced. “Be careful what you wish for, Taylor. If theydolook deeper, they might find something. You’re well covered, and I added a few more layers, but you don’t want your cover to get poked by a bunch of IT geeks who answer to Malcolm. I’ll bet he’s the kind of boss who’d take a bat to an employee’s kneecaps if they disappointed him.”
Her mind immediately went to Liam, and she rose on shaky legs. More than once she’d wondered if he’d been hurt. Surely, they could do anything to him. Malcolm enjoyed complete impunity.
“What’s going on?” Arthur asked, holding a fresh cup of coffee. “Looks like a funeral in here.”
Taylor couldn’t force the words out suddenly.
“Liam’s being kept in jail,” J.T. answered at last, patting her back companionably. “They’re saying the Waterford Veritas from last night was a copycat.”
“I saw the earlier press coverage of the mural.” He held out his hand. “It’s a dead ringer for his work. Show me the top stories.”
Taylor handed him her tablet as her mind spun.
There was only one thing to do, wasn’t there? She had to come forward and confess she was Veritas.
“I know what you’re thinking,” J.T. said quietly to her, “but let me suggest why that would be a bad idea.”
“What’s a bad idea?” Arthur didn’t look up from reading the news, only proving how sharp his ears and mind were. “A prison break?”
“Thatmightbe a better idea,” Flynn agreed, his mouth twisting.
Arthur pinned them with his pale blue eyes. “Then what exactly?”
Taylor and the Merriam boys had agreed not to involve anyone else in what they’d done. After all, if Arthur ended up writing an exposé on Malcolm, which they very much wanted, who knew if the Irish authorities would want to bring him in for questioning.
